White Orange and Green
by Sen Graham
Summary: England bites off a tiny bit more than he can chew.


Title: White Orange and Green

Summary: England bites off a tiny bit more than he could chew…

Rating: Pg-13

Warnings: Violence, language, anti-English sentiments.

* * *

England did not dislike Ireland. He really did not. If he disliked her, why on earth would he spend so much bloody time trying to make her part of his empire? True, it had been a while since he himself had gone to visit and from what he remembered she was a rude, violent alcoholic, but she was family, and pretty when she felt like it. Her culture was very rich and ancient and she excelled in the arts. Well, not refined English arts, but those swirling braiding doodles she made looked nice enough and her music could be charming.

Though of course England had to think of what his sibling could contribute to the empire. She was a good farmer, nasty potato blights aside, sailor and fisher, and very good at those meanial labouring tasks he was too busy for. And with his sister living so close and usually looking for work it just seemed natural that she would work for him. Why not? She liked work, he needed workers to expand his territory. It made perfect sense to him.

And, her house was beautiful. Not like England but at the same time it had a sort of earthy, natural beauty to it. Magic ran thick in his veins and he could feel it here almost as strongly as he could in his own home. It was a good piece of land, now if Ireland would just let him…er…borrow it indefinitely…everything would be fine.

He hopped on his bike and started to survey the lush green area that Ireland would hopefully…let him borrow indefinitely…and use to support his empire. There were an awful lot of sheep and potatoes, making him feel as though he had stumbled across the illegitimate love child of Germany and New Zealand at times. He passed quite a few little villages as well. That was what he liked about Ireland, so lovely and quaint. It almost made up for her being such a quick tempered unsophisticated brute.

It was about then he noticed a young lady travelling on her own down the Boal Gouty mountains. He stopped his bike and looked her over. The next village was an awfully long way off, he ought to be a gentleman and give the lady a ride. Besides, she did look pretty from a ways off. That was another thing he liked about Ireland, while the women there were not quite on par with well bred English ladies, they were as the locals said, 'bonnie.'

"Excuse me miss, would you like a ride to town?" he called, ringing the bell on the bike and putting on his dashing gentlemanly smile.

"Arthur? Is that you ya great Amadán?" asked the girl.

For a brief moment England's blood went cold at the thought of nearly having hit on his sister. But the moment passed and he kept up his gentlemanly airs. He was here to do business with his sister after all, he could not afford to back down because of a little slip up like that. As Ireland approached he recognized her a little more, and felt stupid for mistaking her for a complete stranger. There was the mop of red hair done in the braid, that ridiculous tattoo creeping up her neck onto her cheek, mass of freckles and of course the thick eyebrows that ran in the family. She was carrying something too. What looked like a picnic basket and some ratty old tablecloth she had likely used as a blanket.

"Ah, I see you were out enjoying the fresh air as well?" asked England.

"What, your air to smoggy with those factories of yours?" retorted his sister.

"No, I came to visit. Hop on and I'll take you to town, I have something I'd like to ask you," proposed England.

"What, can't ask it here?"

Blunt as ever. England sighed and dismounted the bicycle. It would seem they would have to talk on the side of the road. He would have much rather have talked in an office or at least a building of some sort. Talking out here seemed rather unofficial, and this really was important business. That and he had wanted to get something to eat before they talked.

"Look, are you sure we can't at least go get something to eat first?" asked England.

Ireland tucked the tablecloth under her arm and thrust the basket in England's face, "Left over potatoes and whiskey, enjoy."

England then and there swore that if France ever called him a lousy cook again he would treat the bloody frog to a few Irish delicacies. It was not bad, just bland…even by his standards. Couldn't Ireland afford a few spices? Maybe some butter?

"So what do you want?" asked Ireland.

"Here, let's spread that tablecloth of yours out, sit down and talk turkey like civilized folk," suggested England.

"My…what?" asked Ireland, looking genuinely confused.

"That tablecloth under your arm," said England, pointing to it.

"That's my flag you Gobshite!" yelled Ireland.

At that point, England wanted to ask who brings their flag on a picnic, but decided it was best to hold his tongue and try to make Ireland like him more so she would…let him borrow her house indefinitely… Unfortunately what came out was, "No need to be so rude! Next outburst and I'm shipping you off to visit Australia!"

Ireland made a light 'tch' noise at the back of her throat and muttered something about 'propies' but otherwise seemed to have calmed down. Now it was time for England to work his magic and the flag seemed to have given him a good opening to make a pitch.

"Say, Ireland, could I see your flag?" he asked.

The girl shrugged and unfolded her old flag. It was a dirty old thing, certainly in need of repair. England smiled and looked it over, "It certainly needs some fixing up."

"Just went out to buy the right thread, there's a short cut that way," explained Ireland. Well, at least that explained taking her flag on a picnic.

"Well, why don't I just give you a new flag, wouldn't that save you some trouble?" offered England, hoping he sounded helpful.

"You'd…you'd really buy me a new flag?" asked Ireland, looking almost grateful.

"Yes, now if you just give me that old flag I'll come bring you a brand new one. What do you say?" he asked.

"I…don't know England. My house doesn't look right without the flag there. Can't you bring the new one and then I'll give you this one?"

Well…that was the end of that idea. But hopefully now that Ireland had warmed up a little she might accept his proposal. "Why, I have your new flag right here. Take a look."

England reached into his pack and pulled out a brand new Union Jack. "Well what do you think? Red white and blue, very fashionable and popular colours."

"And right when I was thinking you weren't such a bad old hoor! You're as useless as tits on a bull!" yelled Ireland, her pale face getting redder by the second, "I'll die before that…that…thing flies in front of my house!"

"I…take it that's a no?" asked England. He really had no idea what Ireland was saying half the time with her vulgar slang and all.

Then Ireland pulled out…was that a gun! That crazy ginger just pulled out a gun! He was going to die! He the great British Empire was going to be shot! All because he had suggested Ireland put up a newer prettier flag. He paled but stood his ground. He would not lose to a little girl. If he died today he would do so like a gentleman.

"Ireland. I am the British Empire. I could lay siege to your little island and take it for myself, but since you're my sister I'm asking nicely. Give me that flag and promise to do what I say and there will be no trouble. In fact, you might even come to like it, I don't treat my colonies badly," offered England. It was his final offer.

Ireland held her little pistol unflinchingly. "When your blood and mine are strewn across the Boal Gouties…then maybe you can hang your flag at my house." She released the safety and waited for her brother's reply.

England mounted his bike. "I'll…I'll be back Erin. You won't get away from me so easily."

"Go home British, ain't you got no home of your own?" asked Ireland, putting the safety back on.

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Notes:

If you see any Irish slag words, they roughly mean idiot.

Yeah, I made England an ass, America had to get it from somewhere didn't he :3

This story actually references two songs, White Orange and Green and Ireland's last line "Go home British, ain't you got no home of your own?" comes from the song Go Home British Soldiers.


End file.
